duckychucky
Par Member
- Joined
- Jun 17, 2011
- Messages
- 186
Twas the night before Discmas, when all through the course
Not a disc was seen flying, not even Z Force.
The chains were all hung on the basket with care
In hopes that St. Headrick soon would be there.
The disc golfers were nestled all snug in their beds
While visions of ace runs danced in their heads.
And mama in her dry-fit and I in my cap
Had just settled our bags for a long winters nap.
When out on the green there arose such a clatter
I sprang from the bench to see what was the matter.
Away to the tee box I flew like a flash
Swept off the concrete where I often had cashed.
The moon on the breast of the new fallen snow
Charged up my discs and made them all glow.
When what to my wondering eyes should appear
But a disc golf cart-sleigh pulled by pros in A-tier.
With a little old driver so lively and quick
I knew in a moment it must be St. Headrick.
More high speed than Nukes his pro-team they came
And he whistled and shouted and called them by name.
Now Climo! Now Schusterick! Wysocki and McBeth!
On Allen! On Jenkins! On Hokum and Pierce!
To the top of the circle to spin, push or straddle
Now putt away, putt away, putt away all!
As dry leaves that before the DGA Hurricane fly
When they meet with an obstacle mount to the sky
So into the chains the putters they flew
Lead by the Blowfly that St. Headrick threw.
And then in a twinkling I heard at next tee
The prancing of X-steps as discs where flown free.
As I drew in my head and was turning around
Down the fairway St. Headrick's disc came with a bound.
He was dressed in all white from his head to his foot
And his clothes were all tarnished with pine pitch and soot.
A bundle of discs he had flung on his back
And he looked like a disc collector just opening his pack.
His eyes how they twinkled, his dimples how merry
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry.
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow
And the beard of his chin was as white as the snow.
His famous white hat sat on his head
His PDGA membership card, "#001" it said.
"When I pass" he said "I have only one wish"
"Cremate my body and put the ashes in discs"
He was slender and "Steady" a "Frisbyterian" elf
And I laughed when I saw him in spite of myself.
A twist of his hips and a snap of his wrist
I couldn't believe such good form could exist.
He spoke not a word but with a smile on his face
He threw the most beautiful hyzer line ace!
And onto the scorecard a "1" he did write
I was in awe of his disc's "steady" flight.
He sprang to his cart-sleigh, to his team gave a whistle
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.
But I heard him exclaim as I saw one more grin,
"Merry Discmas to all and THE MOST FUN WINS!"
Not a disc was seen flying, not even Z Force.
The chains were all hung on the basket with care
In hopes that St. Headrick soon would be there.
The disc golfers were nestled all snug in their beds
While visions of ace runs danced in their heads.
And mama in her dry-fit and I in my cap
Had just settled our bags for a long winters nap.
When out on the green there arose such a clatter
I sprang from the bench to see what was the matter.
Away to the tee box I flew like a flash
Swept off the concrete where I often had cashed.
The moon on the breast of the new fallen snow
Charged up my discs and made them all glow.
When what to my wondering eyes should appear
But a disc golf cart-sleigh pulled by pros in A-tier.
With a little old driver so lively and quick
I knew in a moment it must be St. Headrick.
More high speed than Nukes his pro-team they came
And he whistled and shouted and called them by name.
Now Climo! Now Schusterick! Wysocki and McBeth!
On Allen! On Jenkins! On Hokum and Pierce!
To the top of the circle to spin, push or straddle
Now putt away, putt away, putt away all!
As dry leaves that before the DGA Hurricane fly
When they meet with an obstacle mount to the sky
So into the chains the putters they flew
Lead by the Blowfly that St. Headrick threw.
And then in a twinkling I heard at next tee
The prancing of X-steps as discs where flown free.
As I drew in my head and was turning around
Down the fairway St. Headrick's disc came with a bound.
He was dressed in all white from his head to his foot
And his clothes were all tarnished with pine pitch and soot.
A bundle of discs he had flung on his back
And he looked like a disc collector just opening his pack.
His eyes how they twinkled, his dimples how merry
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry.
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow
And the beard of his chin was as white as the snow.
His famous white hat sat on his head
His PDGA membership card, "#001" it said.
"When I pass" he said "I have only one wish"
"Cremate my body and put the ashes in discs"
He was slender and "Steady" a "Frisbyterian" elf
And I laughed when I saw him in spite of myself.
A twist of his hips and a snap of his wrist
I couldn't believe such good form could exist.
He spoke not a word but with a smile on his face
He threw the most beautiful hyzer line ace!
And onto the scorecard a "1" he did write
I was in awe of his disc's "steady" flight.
He sprang to his cart-sleigh, to his team gave a whistle
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.
But I heard him exclaim as I saw one more grin,
"Merry Discmas to all and THE MOST FUN WINS!"
